Pasta
by BarracudaHeart
Summary: A parody of the infamous MLP fanfiction "Cupcakes", Italy often invites one of his fellow nations over to 'help him make pasta'. Whose turn is it now? Rated M for torture, cannibalism, implied rape, language, and an author who is very sorry for this.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a blatant parody or knockoff of the infamous My Little Pony fanfic "Cupcakes" by Sgt. Sprinkles. ****I honestly hate myself for making something as horribly twisted and sadistic as this. It's kind of disgusting, and I'm sorry. But I couldn't resist. It's rated M for a good reason folks. And it wasn't meant to be written awesomely. America/Belarus shipping is in here for the fact that I needed to torture America more. I don't support it THAT much. Sorry fangirls.**

**For those who don't know about "Cupcakes" or My Little Pony Friendship is Magic, for god sake, turn away, or go to Know Your Meme.**

**So with that, let's get on with this! Let's see some Torturetalia!**

**Apologies to Lauren Faust, Himaruya-san, and the author of Cupcakes.**

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><p>It was a normal uneventful day for everyone on the day that the United States of America flew to Italy. The sun was shining in the countryside, and it was pleasantly warm. Italy had personally called him, asking him to come over for an important meeting today, and America couldn't say no to his fellow nation! The sandy haired blond man sported a cheeky grin as he skated down the steps of the Italian piazza, as the skateboard sailed on the ground, and the warm air tickled his face. He had time to kill, he thought to himself.<p>

His bomber jacket's leather shining with the sun, he sped off, hopped onto a cement railing, rode it down, much to the excitement of a few observers, and jumped the board off the rail, letting it sail in the air, until it soared to the ground, where he sped down the street, until he swept the corner, and skidded to a stop.

A few onlookers clapped, as the nation did an over dramatic bow. His scene was disrupted however by a cheerful chirping voice that was all too familiar.

"Buon giorno America!" sang Italy happily, skipping down a set of steps, smiling brightly, "I'm so happy you're here!" He was wearing his casual set of sailor clothes, a crisp white and blue, complete with hankerchiefs. Whenever he wore it, he looked as cute as a button, and was a hit with the ladies.

"Oh, hey dude, wassup?" replied America, giving the puppy eyed man a 'bro hug'.

"Well, today is the day you're supposed to be here! Ve, and it's actually a good thing I found you early!"

"Oh, really? Well sweet!" smiled the American cheekily, "So what are we gonna do?"

"Well before the meeting, would you like some lunch? I made some really tasty pasta!"

"Oh, pasta? Dude, I love pasta! Totally count me in!"

"Ve~That's delightful." smiled Italy dreamily, who then motioned with his hand the way to his house. They eventually made it to the lovely house, which was clearly designed in the time of the Renaissance, and Italy bouncily opened the door for his guest. He then led him to the dining room, where he offered him a seat.

"Just sit here, get comfy, and I'll get the pasta." smiled the Italian.

America did just that with no defying thoughts, and laid back lazily in the chair. He admired Italy's artistic decor, and the tablecloth looked kind of cute. Red gingham and stuff like that.

About ten minutes later, or what seemed like an eternity to America, Italy came back into the room, humming as he carried two different plates of pasta. He set the two plates down in front of them. Italy's plate had some delicious looking tortellini with pesto decorating it, the plate being simple white china. The plate he put in front of America had a pretty hearty portion of penne pasta under what looked like a delicious red sauce with italian sausage. However, instead of a plain plate, the plate was hand decorated around the edges with little red maple leaves. That reminded America that he would need to call Canada and check up on the poor guy. He hadn't heard from him in ages.

"Ve, sorry for taking so long, I needed to heat up the sauce." apologized the Italian. America gave him a thumbs up, dismissing any wrong doing.

"Wow Italy, this stuff looks delicious!" cheered the American as he excitedly dug into the pasta, taking large happy forkfuls. Italy smiled warmly, and tucked into his own meal. America was in near awe at the wonderful taste of the pasta and sauce. It was rich and spicy, but had a very sweet balance to it, which made America want bigger forkfuls each time.

After a few minutes however, Italy was frowning, and he said, "Ve...I have to tell you something."

"Hm, what?" asked America, mouth full.

"I didn't really call you for a meeting..."

"Oh...then why did you call me here?"

"I lied, because if I told you why I wanted you here really, you wouldn't have bothered." sighed Italy, brown doe eyes glistening sadly.

"Aw Veneziano, we're buds aren't we? I'd love coming over here at any time. I mean it." smiled America.

"Ve!" smiled Italy, "Then I guess I should tell you that the reason I asked you to come here is because..."

"Yes?" asked America.

"I want you to help me make pasta."

America paused a moment trying not to hurt the other's feelings, "Oh...uh...really...well...um...okay!"

Italy beamed happily, "Oh yay! This is going to be so much fun America! We'll start soon."

"Oh, cool!"

"But first, why don't you take a little siesta?"

"Hm? But I'm not tired."

"Ve, well you will be in a few minutes. That ambien in the parmesan will work in a very short while."

"Ambien? What are you talking abou-"

It was at that moment that America began to feel dizzy, and as though the wind had been knocked out of him very slowly. As his head spun, he uttered, "Italy?" and passed out, face down into his empty, sauce dirtied, maple-leaf-adorned plate.

Italy kept his happy smile, and took no speed into eating the rest of his lunch. America could wait a little while while he finished his meal.

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><p>America's eyes opened blurrily, and forgetting what had happened for a split second, he habitually tried to reach for his glasses on his nonexistent nightstand. It was then he realized that the hand he tried to reach with was securely pinned down by what seemed to be a metal cuff. He jolted back to this reality, and tried to move both his hands, but both were stuck. Heartbeat starting to pace faster with fear, he tried to lift his legs, but they were jolted back to the surface. America then realized, fear growing, that he was strapped down to a table, stomach down, back facing up,on an operating table. He couldn't see anything, the room was entirely blacked out, and America couldn't feel his glasses on his face.<p>

He gulped and stuttered out, "He-hello? Italy?"

Hollow footsteps were heard, and a cheerful voice, "Ve, you're finally awake! That's good, now we can get down to it!"

"I-italy, is that you? What the heck is this?"

"Oh America, didn't you forget? I wanted you to help me make pasta! I'm just getting you ready! Welcome to my basement!" , the voice chirped.

"R-ready?"

"Si! To make pasta!"

America paused, and then began to laugh with a nervous sigh of relief, "Haha, good one Italy! For a second there, I thought you were gonna chop me up into pasta! You can let me go now ok?"

"I'm happy you find this funny America, but I wasn't intending a joke. And if I let you go, you'd not want to make pasta with me anymore."

"H-hey Italy, c'mon and let me go! This isn't funny anymore!"

"Ve, I'm sorry, but I have no choice. If you don't help me make pasta, it will all go wrong. Your flag was pulled, so it's your turn. No backing out, or it won't be right!"

"Italy, what are you talking about?" cried America, breathing faster, and struggling to get loose.

"Oh, you'll understand soon enough..." cooed Italy happily, "Now we can get ready for the fun!"

And with a switch's flick, large operating room lights shone over America, causing him to wince from their sterile brightness. He turned his head around, and looked around the room. America couldn't see very well, eyes adjusting to the light, but as soon as the darkness cleared, he peered around the room at the blurry objects surrounding him. Without his glasses, it was near impossible to determine what they were.

It was also at this moment that America, beginning to sweat, could feel his skin sticking to what felt like cold metal. Minus what seemed to be his boxers, he was without clothes.

"Oh that's right, ve! Without your glasses, you can't see! Here, you can put them on for a minute! And I took the liberty of putting your nice pretty clothes away, so they wouldn't get all dirty. Except for some undies, because even if you're in Italy, I know you'd probably be uncomfortable with getting completely naked." chirped Italy, who in America's eyes was a blurry figure in white.

Once the glasses were put on, America screamed. For the room could be mistaken as the freezer of a meat packaging plant, but instead of dead animals, were the carcasses of bodies were sliced down the middle, emptied of the organs, and of the closest bodies, America could peer inside, and see their ribs had been snapped off, one by one, like twigs. Some of the arms and legs were dangling in horrifically unnatural positions, as if those certain people had been struggling, and overpowered by some horrificly strong person.

Their faces seemed to have been skinned from their skulls, but remained on the body, skull disconnected, and the skin held the large cranial bones like a bag. The faces were stretched and distorted from having been hung upside down, and dislocated from the bones. The eyeballs were hidden under whatever skin covered them,and the eyelids opened to hideous red stained bone. From the edges of their jaggedly torn middles, blood must have dripped, because under all of them lay large red splotches on the cement floor.

Absolutely sickened, America peered closer, and then gasped in horror as he recognized the bodies as those of nations. Those closest to him were far easier to recognize and view, but America knew that they were no doubt all nations. America then had to resist throwing up as he could see on their backs that grotesque drawings of the nation's respective flags were drawn on their back. He recognized one of the drawings as that of Latvia. The poor boy had two rectangles of his skin cut out, revealing the dark red flesh. His now pale skin took place for the strip of white, projecting a sick twisted design of the Latvian flag. America remembered from the last meeting that Russia had commented about not seeing Latvia in a while. Could this have happened to him then?

America then heard Italy comment innocently, "Hm, I remember him. He shook too much, so the flag didn't turn out how I wanted. Ve, he cried so much, I had to use some chloroform, and adrenaline to keep him nice and quiet for me. He kept telling me about how he wanted to go home, and that he would tell Russia about this. I couldn't let him go, or Russia might have known that I was making pasta! He wasn't worth it much, the sauce was kind of bland."

Italy then beamed with pride, "And don't they look nice? It's amazing what homemade embalming liquid can do. They'll keep nice for years!"

"Y-You did this? You killed these nations? You...you ATE them?" choked America in disbelief, not being able to see Italy, since he was standing behind him.

"Ve, well duh, I had to! How else could I make pasta? Well, pasta sauce technically, since nation made pasta is ridiculous! But pasta SAUCE however..."

"I-I don't believe this. I don't believe this!" cried America, praying that this was all a horrible nightmare, biting his tongue to try and wake himself up.

He then felt the operating table rotate, and soon Italy came into view. The brunette man was wearing a white doctor smock, and an apron with different national flags patched onto it. There was about two thirds of the apron that were still blank and white. Next to Italy was a large cart of sharp surgeon tools, and dining ware. America could see that behind the smiling Italian was a large meat grinder, spattered with blood.

Italy however, seemed no different in appearance. He was still bright, happy and smiling, despite the fact he had openly admitted to murdering all these nations, and presumably feasting on their innards. He did not have the face of a killer, he simply had his happy brown puppy dog eyes, the same ones he always had. Not one glimpse of insanity to be seen in them.

And he would still have them for this whole time.

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><p>Italy, humming, then said, "Ve, America, wanna say hi to one of your friends?"<p>

America, hyperventalating, couldn't answer. So the murdering nation smiled innocently, and went to a rack of bodies. Humming, and shifting his hands through them, trying to find the certain ones, as if he were in a home maintainance shop, looking through the large boards of swatches or carpets. He then reached in, and yanked out a limp, small carcass. Flinging it over his shoulder, he hauled it effortlessly over to the table, and flopped it down next to America. The blonde turned, and nearly passed out from the fear and horror.

In front of him, lay the brutalized corpse of a very familiar woman. Her silver blonde hair was dry, matted and twisted with blood, and her face sagged loose and distorted like the rest of the dead nations. Her eyes were no longer visible, and her throat was cut deeply, stained with red. America could only see one of her twisted hands, but it was horrifically mangled. And yet, she still looked...pretty. to America at least.

He choked out in horror, and disbelied, "Be-Belarus?"

Italy hummed affirmatively, releasing one of America's bound hands, "Ve, she was kind of a tricky one to work with. She managed to pull a knife out with her free hand, and cut my arm, so I broke her hand. She screamed so much, and refused to cooperate. And her screaming and shouting was so mean and nasty, I had to cut her throat to shut her up. She didn't last nearly as long as I thought. Ve, and BOY did she cry! But the taste was well worth it! She gave the sauce a nice basil undertone to it, and it was a little salty too. Not as salty as Greece, but pretty darn close!"

America began to cry in disbelief, "Belarus..." he wailed. For some time, he and the Slavic nation had been together, since she finally was starting to recover her marbles over attempting to marry her brother. Ignoring the disbelief of the other countries, America kept letting himself and Belarus know that he loved her more than anything. He cried, and using his now free hand, wrapped his arm around her corpse. Since her ribs were snapped away, her torso sagged like an old pillow in his arms. But America didn't care. She was still Belarus. He hugged her tightly, and leaned his head in to kiss her distorted face.

"I-Italy...why?" sobbed the American, "Why did you have to kill _her_?"

"Because it was her turn, duh!" giggled the Italian, as if this was an innocent game.

"Italy, please let me go!" cried America, hysterical at this point.

"Ve, I could see why you would want me to do that, but I can't. This is like our duties as nations. We just can't evade them. It's just how it is. Don't worry, your hand is free, so you can hug your bella while I get you done. Now I guess it's time to start! I'll take your glasses so they don't get dirty."

Italy, taking away America's glasses, dug into a large tupperware container of different instruments, and pulled out what seemed to be an ivory scalpel. However, its shape was rather odd."

"Ve, with all the ribs I collect, I'm able to make these instruments and stuff. It's cheap, but efficient, right?"

America, near delusional, was unable to see what Italy was doing. Italy then moved over his back, and cheered, "Ready?...No? Ve, well I am!"

America then felt a sharp, searing pain as Italy dug the razor sharp instrument into his back, ripping through tendons and nerves, destroying muscle, in a rectangular shape. He screamed in pain as Italy continued, picking up the instrument, digging it back down, and making near equally sized shapes. Soon enough, it seemed to be over, as his back burned in pain. Italy was humming the whole time, and once he had finished, he then said, "Ve, now to get the nice pretty blue of your flag in there! I've got some antifreeze and liquid nitrogen to keep the color in this little syringe here. I know you might not like shots, so I'll warn you that you might feel a poke and pinch. I'm feeling a little too lazy to do the stars today..."

But America felt more than a poke and pinch. He felt searing, unbearable pain as the toxic chemicals were injected into his thick muscular body. It then shot through his whole body, burning his insides through. He screamed in total agony, squeezing Belarus' sagged corpse. The patch of skin on his back turned a horrific, bruised blue.

Italy hummed, and throwing the instruments back into the tupperware, he asked much like an innocent child, leaning down to America's face, "Say, America. Did you ever sleep with Belarus?"

"W-what?" hissed America in agonized pain.

"Belarus. Did you ever sleep with her?"

America didn't answer him, still in pain and hysteria. Besides, it wasn't Italy's business.

Italy smiled teasingly and giggled, "Ve, I bet you did! Because she definitely wasn't a virgin when I was with her! We did more than make pasta, if you know what I mean!"

America's blue eyes, glazed in pain, now sparked with utmost rage, and with an animalistic growl, he sent his free fist at Italy, cutting off his innocent laughter with a blow to the jaw.

"YOU FUCKING RAPIST!" shouted America, as the Italian fell over. Italy sat up with a confused face, but began to childishly pout, and frowning, got up, and grabbing America by the hair, scolded, "That isn't very nice! I made you a nice lunch, and you're not cooperating! Canada would have wanted you to be happy!"

"C-Canada?" stammered America, still in pain, "You killed Canada?"

"Si!" answered Italy cheerfully, "Didn't you taste the yummy maple taste in the meat?"

America, who had been holding back bile for a while, finally gagged at this fact, and emptied his stomach onto the table and floor. His meal which included Canada, went all over the floor, now smelling rancid. Italy sighed,"Ve...That's too bad really. I thought you'd always want your brother to be a part of you. Or a part inside."

America growled angrily to the smiling Italian, breath hot and odorous, "_Fuck you_."

Italy grinned all too innocently, with those big happy eyes, and giggled "Sorry America, but I'm more into girls."

America then released his free hand from Belarus' corpse, and shot another punch at Italy, who this time was able to dodge it. Italy frowned once again, and this time, grabbed America's wrist with an almost brute strength, and as if it was a twig, snapped America's arm back, with a loud, audible crack. America screamed in pain, throat raw, and ready to bleed. Tears and mucus were staining his face, and he writhed in agony. Belarus' corpse sagged to the ground, and lay in a heap.

America's screams were loud enough for anyone to hear, but nobody did, except for the insane Italian. America began to scream for help, and even shouted for Romano, or South Italy to find him. Italy shook his head smiling sleepily, "Big brother's at Spain's house. Plus, the walls are soundproof. Romano needs his sleep, and if he knew about this, he wouldn't understand."

Italy then stretched his back a little, and sighing casually, remarked, "Now to turn you around it seems. Please behave for me America, and don't move while I get these restraints undone. Ve?"

Italy then moved to America's left leg, and undid the restraint with a click. As soon as America heard that click, he shot his foot backwards, and with a powerful kick, hit Italy in the nose. Blood began to flow, and angrily, with no hesistation, Italy grabbed a large ice breaker mallet by the table and slammed it into America's kneecap, snapping and twisting it. Absolute pain and white hot agony pulsed through the American, whose throat was now blood raw from screaming. Thankfully this time, he passed out quickly from the pain, blacking out.

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><p>However very shortly, America woke up, spitting out bile and blood, when he smelled his own regurgitated meal, soaked on a cloth. Italy had held it up to his nose, to wake him up.<p>

"Ve! Oh good you're up! Now we can get to my favorite part! Getting the ingredients!" smiled Italy sunnily.

America then realized that he was now on his back, and was restrained even tighter. His back burned with pain, and he could feel the carved flag on his back, still fresh and bleeding.

Italy hummed thoughtfully, "Ve...You know, I don't know what to put on your plate design. Little hamburgers, or stars...I think the hamburgers would be a little insulting, but the stars...hm...I don't know..."

The brunette then got out a sharp rib-bone scalpel, and walked over to America leaning over him, smiling, not a hint of insanity of evil at this moment.

"Well America, we're starting to get towards the end. Just a few more things, like collecting some ribs and stuff. And that will be it."

"I-Italy, please..."

"Ve, it's been nice to know you America, but everyone's going to get a turn eventually." sighed Italy, who then took no hesitation in stabbing the scalped into America's chest, and dragging it cleanly down his middle. America's senses burned once again with pain, but he couldn't scream. His throat was dead, and his vocal chords weren't working.

Italy finished dragging it down, and the American's belly opened up with a wet sounding flap. He took both flaps by the ends, and stretched them, tearing the skin, making the American suffer horrendously now. America's skin was spread open like a curtain now, and Italy was able to peer inside America's body, at his working vital organs. Italy peered further, and gave a little, "Aha!" and reached into America's ribcage, and snapped off one of the ribs, causing the tortured nation to writhe dreadfully. He did the rest with all of the ribs. As he snapped them, Italy giggled, "Ve! I like the little sounds they make! Don't you?" and tossed them into a little bowl of water, clattering with a splash. Italy then sighed, and put on some rubber gloves.

"Well when I've finished emptying your body, that will be about it...for you at least. You won't be around long enough for me to get your brain out. And that takes precision to keep the skull in the head, and I don't need you writhing on me." informed Italy, as if this was a simple medical procedure.

America could care less now. At this moment, his conscious mental thoughts were gone. He could only feel pain now, physical and emotional. How could Italy have done this, having killed these nations, torturing them...not even Russia would have done something like this. His brother Canada...Belarus...Latvia...Greece...and countless other nations were victims...America couldn't imagine what horrors Italy had put them through...especially not Belarus, who Italy had admitted to raping...if America could now, he'd have tossed this sick bastard through the meat grinder, and fed him to Germany's dogs.

Italy took both hands, and started by grabbing America's lower intestines, pulling them out like heaps of tubes, and squeezing out whatever was in them. America's nerves were now dead, and his head lolled to the side, as blood ran from his mouth. He tossed them in a large white utility pail marked 'pasta sauce'. He then pulled out America's stomach, and commented to the unresponsive nation with a joking manner, "Ve...America, your stomach is HUGE, si?"

Italy continued removing vital organs from the nation's body, commenting on them all, and chatting happily. America however couldn't hear him. As soon as Italy had ripped the first organs, he had given way to the dizzying, comfort of blackness. The comfort of knowing he'd see his brother and friends again had barely set into him, but he felt better. He was long dead before Italy had even used the largest scalpel to scrape the skull from his skin, and extract the dead brain.

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><p>It didn't take too long for everyone to make note of America's disappearance, especially since he hadn't reported to his boss when he was supposed to. None of the fifty states had a clue where he had gone. Nations searched far and wide for the usually open and visible nation, but he was nowhere to be found.<p>

It was eventually assumed that another nation had attacked America, and killed him. All fingers were pointing to the most suspectible target Russia. Russia, protected his innocence, but his creepy attitude never really saved his case. But since they had no evidence, all that happened was a glaring hate towards the large nation. Only a few nations actually believed him.

Italy who was simply a bystander for this whole search and point, was never suspected, and since he wasn't asked about it, never spoke a word.

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><p>"Ve...It's kind of too bad that everyone's blaming Russia for my job, but everyone seems satisfied with what they want to believe, so I won't disappoint them. Am I doing the right thing?" asked Italy casually, as he took another sip of wine.<p>

"Oh don't worry you silly willy-nillyer! It's always been said that the best workers are those who work undercover!" assured his baby-blue eyed friend, batting her eyelashes, and tossing her perky pink hair.

"Ve, I've heard that too. And I think you're right, Pinkie! Soon enough, everyone will understand what I'm doing, and know that it's just protocol!"

"That's the spirit! I know it will happen for me one day too, so let's not worry about it! Besides, we've promised each other that we wouldn't tell each other's secret! And you have to keep secrets, forever!" Pinkie smiled.

"That's right! Ve..." smiled Italy sleepily to his friend, they both then chanted, "Cross my heart, and hope to die, stick a cupcake in my eye!", and they giggled.

Pinkie then looked on Italy's counter, "Say, what's that painted plate for?"

"Oh it's not finished yet. It's to commemorate my latest batch of pasta! I'm still using this blue puff paint to make the stars. I need 25 more to go on it. Doesn't it just picturize 'American'?"

"I wouldn't know, never been there." shrugged Pinkie, brushing her tail a little out of randomness.

"Do you want to help me choose my next pasta helper?"

"Ooh, I'd love to!" squealed Pinkie Pie, clapping her hooves together. Italy reached into his cabinet, and pulled out a plastic bowl with little paper squares. On the squares were different nation's flags. Shutting her eyes, she reached in and grabbed a square. Looking at it, she said, "Hm, it's a flag with three horizontal stripes, white, blue, and red. What's that?"

Italy took the paper, and looking at it, smiled happily, "Oh it's Russia! Ve, we're going to have so much fun! He loves this kind of stuff I bet! And I've always wanted to make a sunflower plate!"

Pinkie smiled, "I can't wait either for my next job! I'm training Apple Bloom on one of the foals I picked!"

Italy laughed, "You're an awesome friend Pinkie Pie! Who'd ever think of a nation becoming friends with a pink pony?"

"Or the other way around! You tell me!" she replied smiling goofily, and they both began laughing harder.

"I wonder if Princess Celestia will ever come to one of your guys' world meetings, and bring me along!"

"I don't know. Equestria isn't really acknowledged by anyone here." replied Italy, scratching his head.

Pinkie sighed, "Oh well...Can I have some more pasta please?"

"Si, but only if I can have another one of those tasty rainbow cupcakes!"

"Thanks Italy, and of course you can!"

_Grazie!_

**To Be Continued**

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><p><strong>Yeah, so is everyone ok? Ok good. Because there's gonna be another chapter. (Smiles at the horrified cries of Russia's fangirls)<strong>

**I originally was going to have a scene where Italy tells America that when he took out Belarus' insides, he found an unborn three month old fetus in her stomach, implying that it was her and America's baby, but I was already going too far with Italy's implication that he raped her, so I decided not to. I HAVE MY LIMITS PEOPLE.**

**So I hope you're enjoying this, because once I finish chapter two, I'm never writing shit like this again.**

**So read and review or I'll make another third chapter with no restrictions and no regrets. And I'll kill someone everyone loves. Sealand maybe.**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is the last chapter, inspired by all the random Cupcakes spinoffs. Don't expect anything happy, okay? **

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><p>"Ve...It's too bad to hear about how everyone's blaming you for America's disappearance. Are you <em>sure<em> you didn't have anything to do with it?"

"Da, I'm certain comrade. Why on earth would I want to kill America?" answered the Russian with a bored sigh, who sat in a chair at Italy's kitchen table. He drummed his finger's impatiently, waiting for Italy to bring on whatever it is he had called him here for. The annoying brunette had told him that these were orders from his boss, and any orders from bosses were to be followed. But nothing seemed to be occuring, except for the fact that the Italian was cooking some pasta in a pot. It smelled wonderful.

"Weeellll, because you've said on many occassions that you often fantasize about bashing his head in...aaaaand you're really creepy...aaaaand..."

"That's quite enough Italy. Accuse me again, and your head might have a new shape to it, da?" smiled the Russian under a fake and mocking facade. He wouldn't really hurt the Italian, it was almost a Freudian slip of his to threaten people.

Italy rolled his eyes, and mumbled, almost uncharacteristically, "_Ve ve veeeee...With all the threats you give, it's no wonder you have so little friends_."

Russia heard this, mumbled a little sorely, "Oh...da..." It actually hurt to hear something like that from a usually sweet and happy person like Italy.

The thing about Russia was that he really didn't want to harm anyone. He liked spending time with the nations, and tried to be as nice as he could. But whenever he said something, it seemed as though something unpleasant came out of his mouth, and it alienated other people. Russia felt bad for this, and whenever he tried to make up for his mistakes, things just got worse. He was just about ready to give up trying for good. He couldn't understand why his mouth wouldn't listen to him, and why it kept making him say things that General Winter had etched into his mind. Because for once in his life, he'd appreciate if he were able to keep one friend.

Italy, oblivious to the fact that he had hurt the Russian's feelings, then smiled and said, "Ve, don't be so glum Russia! I know just the thing to cheer you up!"

Russia looked up, faking interest, "And what would that be comrade?"

"Pasta!" exclaimed the happy nation, his hair curl bouncing with his cute little leap in the air.

"Big surprise." smiled Russia condescendingly, "But no thank you."

"Ve, but I insist! You must be famished from the trip here!"

Russia hated to admit it, but Italy had hit that point on the nail. He was rather hungry, and he could smell the pasta's aroma. The large nation hated to admit it, but he was, shamefully, a glutton sometimes. Perhaps it wouldn't kill him to have a little lunch now.

"Euh...um...alright, I'd like some pasta please."

"Coming right up! Chirped the Italian who took a good sized portion of pasta and put it on a ceramic plate. He put the plate down in front of Russia, and poured himself a glass of wine. Italy was always fond of good Tuscan wine.

Russia asked, "Aren't you going to eat any?"

"I had lunch before you arrived." explained Italy, sipping his drink. As much as he wanted to sample the pasta, he had to use the sleeping drug in the whole pot of pasta. Russia was such a big nation, it would have taken more than usual to put him out, and get him down to the basement.

Russia observed that the plate was handmade with little blue puffpaint stars circling around the edge. How many, he didn't bother counting. Without another thought, he took a bite of his pasta. To his surprise, it tasted absolutely delicious, especially since he was hungry. It had somewhat of a spicy yet sweet flavor, like a spiced tomato. Soon enough, the plate was empty. He paused, and face red, asked somewhat embarrassed by his own greediness, "You wouldn't mind if I asked for seconds, da?"

"Not at all!" smiled the Italian, who was more than eager to refill his plate. He made no effort to hide a sunny smile as the Russian enjoyed the second portion of the pasta. Russia then politely wiped his mouth with a napkin, and then spoke, "Your boss hasn't shown up yet. Strange. Perhaps you'd like to tell me now why you've called me here, da?"

"Oh, my boss isn't coming here. And if you want to know the surprise, I guess I can tell you now. You're going to help me make pasta!"

"Ah...what?"

"Pasta!" cheered the Italian, "You're going to help me make it today! It's going to be so much fun, and it's going to taste great! And we'll-"

Russia paused, hearing the Italian ramble on, and keeping a soft, formal smile, he slowly got up from his chair.

"Thank you for wasting my valuable time Italy. Imagine me, flying all the way over to your weak, defenseless country, to help you make pasta. How many countries have rejected you already? Please show me the door."

"Ve...oh, but you aren't leaving. And no country has rejected me yet. Not even you!" countered Italy calmly, smile frozen on his face.

"Are you challenging me?" questioned Russia darkly, looming over the brunette boy. But to his surprise, Italy did not flinch or cower, keeping that dumb, happy expression on his face.

"Nope. I'm just telling you that you're not leaving."

"Oh, I think I am." smiled Russia coldly, as he left the kitchen, heading for the foyer.

He then chuckled to Italy, who followed him closely behind, as if to try and bring him back, "Italy, if you don't leave me alone, some certain country might be part of some certain pasta...kolkolko-"

That was when Russia began to feel dizzy. Not just a little dizzy, but immensely. He stumbled a little, as Italy replied beaming, "Exactly!"

Not understanding what Italy said, Russia passed out, leaving Italy to drag him by the feet to his basement.

* * *

><p>Russia blurrily opened his eyes, pain slowly throbbing in his head. His senses weren't all there yet, and he had yet to realize where he was. However, as soon as everything began to clear, Russia slowly remembered what had just happened, from his tasty meal, to getting incredibly dizzy and passing out...where was he anyway?<p>

It was at that time that he realized that he was pinned down to a cold metal table, arms and legs cuffed. He could feel the chilled flat metal surface on his stomach. Which was not normal, since he'd have felt his coat...if he had it on.

Now fully aware of his captivity and near nakedness (he had boxers on still), Russia, although intensely concerned, remained calm, and called out, "Privet?"

"Buon giorno!" cheered a voice behind him loudly. The suddeness caused Russia to jerk a little in surprise, and he asked in disbelief, still calm, "Italy? Where am I, and why am I bound down like this?"

"Ve...You're in my basement..." started Italy, sing-songy, "And you're here to help me make pasta!"

Russia paused a minute, interpreting Italy's words and attaching them to his current position, and he smiled with fake amusement, "Oh...I see. This is some sort of kinky dominatrix prank you're pulling, da? What, has our German comrade taught little Italy some special games?"

"Oh no, nothing like that!" corrected Italy, who stepped towards a wall hidden in the darkness, "It's just as fun though..."

And he turned on the light switch, leaving Russia's sickly innocent violet eyes to take in the horrors of the basement.

"...Well, for me at least."

* * *

><p>Russia, being a country used to violence and horrors, was used to many terrifying sights. But what he viewed in the past was nothing compared to this. It took him a split second to realize that the large carcasses hanging on the many rows of meathooks were not animal carcasses, but that of humans. It also didn't take the violet eyed nation that long to realize that these were nations. Gutted out like fish, and bone skinned from muscle to lay sagging. The meat grinder by the wall is what caught Russia's attention the most, as it was stained with blood.<p>

"I-italy..." started Russia, almost unsure with his tone, "I-I demand that you let me go...d-da?"

"No can do!" hummed Italy, as he went behind Russia with a tray of horrifically sharp surgical tools, "Your flag was pulled, so it's your turn to help me!"

Whatever calmness Russia had was quickly slipping away like sand in an hourglass. He stuttered with disbelief, "Y-you killed these nations?"

"Mhm." affirmed Italy with a dumb, happy grin, "Their numbers got pulled, so I had to do my job! Ve...And I'll be honest, it never gets old."

Before Italy could pick up the first surgical tool, Russia then asked, still in absolute disbelief and growing fear, "S-so you killed America, da? A-and whoever else you picked a flag for?"

Italy rolled his eyes as if he was sharing a silly joke, "Ve, don't be so surprised Russia! Well of COURSE I did! How else could I make pasta?"

Italy then got an idea, curl bouncing as he skipped over to a metal bench by the meat grinder. Pulling the tarp off, Russia, within three seconds screamed.

The gutted, brutally savaged corpses of America and Belarus lay sagging against each other, keeping the other pulled near upright. Their limbs were twisted horribly, and their faces distorted into dead, horrific features.

"Don't they look so much in amore? I decided to put these two over here, for a still life piece. Still life. Get it? Heehee!"

Upon seeing his baby sister dead, tortured and discarded, Russia began to cry. Belarus may have freaked the crap out of him, and she may have been crazy, but she was his sister, his family. And he truly loved her very much...And here Russia was, restrained to a metal table, to die. To suffer the same fate as the rest of these nations.

"B-belarus...no..." he cried, in horror and disbelief.

"I could tell you how the time between me and her went, but since America nearly broke my nose when I told him all about it, I think I'll pass."

Russia saw red, ready to tear that son of a bitch in two, but since he was held down so securely, he had nothing to do but stop crying, and sink into his own unconscious mind. It was clear now that this was no game, and Italy was a dangerous man.

Italy sighed, remembering the good times he had with the last victims, and said with enthusiasm, "Alrighty, time's a wasting, so let's get started!"

"Wh-with what?" asked Russia, feeling a horrible chill shock his spine.

"Why, making the pasta of course! But first, I have to mark you, so I'll always know which country you were!" hummed the Italian. He then took a scalpel, a razor sharp one, and carefully aimed it over the Russian's back. With a gleam in his chocolate brown eyes, he brought the tool down, digging into the other nation's skin.

Russia jolted up as far as he could go in the restraints and gave a silent gasp of pain. When Italy dug the blade through a thick, nerve laced part of his skin, he screamed in pain, tears running down his cheeks. Italy, near oblivious to the Russian's agonized screams, was simply singing in Italian as he sliced out a rectangle of skin, leaving a large space open, quickly oozing with blood. Italy then got out a dreaded syringe filled with the damaging blue serum, and informed, "Now to get the color blue!" he smiled, as he poked the syringe into the Russian's back.

Russia howled in absolute suffering, as the toxic substance ravaged the nerves on his body. He had lost whatever self assurance he had, and now was under the mercy of the Italian. He sobbed, "I-Italy, please! I-I'm sorry for whatever I did to you, just let me go!"

Italy raised his eyes dopily, "Hm, wha?"

"Whatever I did to you, I didn't mean it! Life's getting so hard for me! I'm really sorry! I-I just want to go home!" cried the Russian like a little boy getting kicked around in the schoolyard. His cheeks were stained with tears, and he was shaking hysterically in fear and pain.

Italy's warm smile almost gave Russia a sliver of hope when the Italian pet his silver blond hair soothingly, and smiled, "Oh Russia, this isn't because of anything you did..."

Russia continued to sob, as the Italian continued, "Your flag was just pulled, so that means it's your turn. Ve...and don't worry. When it's all over, nobody will be sad, because nobody will miss you!"

This fact didn't make Russia any happier, and he began to cry harder. His body was shaking in hysterics, and pain throbbed from almost anywhere possible it seemed. He wasn't screaming though. This surprised Italy, who had been used to his 'helpers' screaming. Russia tried to control his crying for one moment, and asked a vital question, fearfully.

"Y-you haven't...y-you haven't hurt Ukraine have you?"

Italy tilted his head, "What does her flag look like?"

"I-It's stripes of light blue and yellow..." stuttered the horrified country, fearing that it was too late.

Italy looked down at his apron, for such a described patch, and seeing it's absence, smiled and said, "Nope! Not yet."

Russia let out a painful sigh of relief. His sister was safe, for now. He then uttered, tearfully, "I-Italy, please don't hurt my sister. D-don't hurt Ukraine...She's so sweet, and she doesn't deserve this kind of torment, da?"

"Sorry, but it's not in my hands! And I can't make exceptions for one, or I'd have to make exceptions for all. And then we'd have countries who were promised a skip in their turn walking everywhere, right?"

Russia tried to beg once more, "Italy please!"

Italy thought a minute, and said, "Ve...Well, if it will make you feel better, it's all based on probability on which flag is pulled, and since there's so many left to go, Ukraine has a good chance of not being picked...hmmm..."

Italy then brightened up with an idea, and smiled goofily, "I know, I know! _You _can pull the flag this time! Then it seems a little more fair I guess." and with that, he reached for the bowl under his operating table, and released a hand restraint on Russia, putting the bowl under the Russian's hand. Russia could feel little paper slips tickle at his fingers.

"Now pick a flag!" invited Italy with large eyes. Russia, having gone back to hysterics, shook his head fearfully murmuring denial, tears and mucus running down his face. Italy frowned angrily, and for once, a rare look of insanity took over, and he snarled and grabbing a scalpel from his table, stabbed it deep into Russia's right thigh.

Russia howled in pain, as Italy shouted angrily, "Pick one! Or I'll stick hot coals down your throat!"

The violet eyed man held back a sob, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his leg, as he stuck his fingers on a random piece of paper, dread filling his chest and stomach as he pulled it up. Italy took it, and examined it. He smiled with pity.

"Ve...You aren't very lucky, are you Russia?", as he showed the blue and yellow flag to the nation. Russia's eyes shot wide in horror, and sobbing uncontrollably now, begged desperately, "No no no no no no! No please, not her! Don't kill her! Just kill me already, not Ukraine!"

"Don't worry Russia.", started Italy, patting the beyond-hysterical nation's burning back, "I'll remember to tell her that you're the one who picked the flag."

Russia couldn't stop crying, in absolute suffering and agony, and whenever a shock of pain came, his screams sounded more like a tortured animal than a human. Blood ran from his back and legs, and his spine felt like it was on fire. He just wanted to die right now. He was miserable. He wanted Ukraine and Belarus to be there and comfort him. He was thirsty. Could Italy give him one last drink of vodka? Not a chance.

Italy perked up as he could hear the doorbell from upstairs on a speaker. He smiled, and spoke as if to a child, "It looks like I have company, I'll be back soon Russia!"

And he turned to go, but before doing so, commented loud enough for Russia to hear, "With Ukraine, I'll have a triplet set! Maybe I'll call it the 'Trio Insano'!"

And at that moment, Russia snapped. The last straw broke the camel's back, and some odd strength seemed to surge through him. With a muscle bruising jerk of his limbs, the restraints became loose, and in a painful instant, Russia leaped up, and silently charged at Italy, who was walking towards the basement stairs. Russia leaped and with both hands, clutched the Italian in his arms, intent to kill this monster. Italy whipped around, and with a surprisingly brute strength, pushed Russia away, nearly knocking him over, and grabbed a meat cleaver out of nowhere. He swung it at Russia, hitting him in his side, deeply, and the Russian staggered.

Russia, pain reflected in his eyes, but looking at nothing, collapsed to the ground, blood running from his side, making a slowly growing puddle. Italy unwarily, had stepped in it. He looked down at Russia, who was shaking, staring at him in horror.

Italy glared, taking off his apron and scrubs, throwing them nonchalantly onto the dying nation, and said, "Now stay here. Got it?"

He didn't wait for any answer, and went upstairs, shutting the door.

* * *

><p>Germany greeted, "Gutentag." to Italy as the merry brunette opened the door.<p>

"Oh, hi Germany! What are you doing here?"

"We have training today, remember? Ready to go?"

"Oh...ah...I kind of forgot, but I'm ready to go when you are. Do you mind if I freshen up first?"

Germany sighed, remembering how much Italy was for appearance, in case he met girls, "Alright fine. But be quick."

Italy skipped happily to his bathroom, while Germany waited. He sighed at how noodly that boy could be, and how harmless he was. He was definitely not a soldier of war.

Germany glanced around, bored, and noticed something odd about the carpet. There seemed to be a red splotch, ever so light, dabbed onto it. And not too far from it was another.

Germany raised his eyebrows, and curiously looked farther. Yet again was another red splotch. But this one was darker.

Not suspecting anything really, Germany followed the red splotches, which got darker and darker until Germany realized with horror that this was not paint or tomato sauce, but blood. Germany picked up the pace, and found that the blood led to a door. Intent to know about the occurence of blood in Italy's house, Germany swung the door open, and shouted,"OH MEIN GOTT!"

* * *

><p>In the basement, were racks of mutilated nation's corpses, all from nations who had gone missing. There was a bloody operating table and a meat grinder, and the piece-de-resistance, Russia lying on the floor, stripped of everything but boxers, nearly shredded and in a pool of blood. He was twitching profusely. The once tall, intimidating nation was a pity to look at.<p>

"Oh gott. Oh gott. Oh gott." uttered the sickened Germany, as he ran down to the mutilated nation, and realized he was still breathing, blood trickling from his mouth. He choked in absolute shock, "Oh mein gott, Russia, what's happened to you?"

Russia, whose eyes were unfocused, startled in fear at the voice, but realizing it was Germany, began to cry silently, and he moaned horrified, "Oh Germany...d-don't let him kill her..."

"Who? Who will kill who?"

"Italy, he's killed all these nations, and after me, he's going to kill Ukraine! Don't let him! Please don't let him!"

Germany felt a shock of surprise go up his spine, and felt all the different voices and memories in his head yell at him in denial of this. Could Italy have killed all these nations? How had this gone unnoticed?

Since Russia was a deadweight now, Germany cradled the hysterical and mauled Russian nation soothingly, "Ja. I'll make sure he doesn't. This will not be going unnoticed anymore."

Russia's mouth trickled a little more blood as he nodded, and uttered, "T-tell the other nations I'm sorry...for everything. I never meant to hurt anyone."

"Ja. They'll understand. You've just saved your sister's life, and the other nations as well. When I get you out of here, you're going to be hailed a hero."

Russia murmured, "_A hero...just like Amerika...da_?" and he was silent for a while, as Germany texted Romano (text name: crazyitalybrother) on his phone: **COME HOME TO THE BASEMENT IMMEDIATELY**.

"Hailed a what?" piped up a voice that made Germany jolt up. Germany whipped his head around, and saw Italy at the top of the basement stairs, frowning.

"Italy..." started Germany, unnatural fear in his voice, "Mein gott, why...?"

Italy glared even more, and pouted, grabbing a baseball bat without Germany noticing, "Ve, naughty Germany. Didn't Germania ever teach you that it's rude to go snooping around other people's houses?"

"Italy...please...why did you kill these country?"

"Because I had to. The pasta required it."

"Italy, you need to stop this!"

"I can't! Or everything will go wrong!"

"I-Italy...Gott...please don't. You've tortured these nations enough! What good is killing Russia?"

"I don't need to kill him now." informed Italy smiling, "It's already done."

Germany turned his attention back to Russia, whose head lolled to the side, and his violet eyes were dull and sightless. Blood had ceased flowing from his mouth which slightly hung open, but more than a fatal filling had pooled on the floor and was slowly coming to a stop. Russia was dead.

Germany looked pitifully at the long tormented nation, who had died a slow and painful death at the hands of an unexpected killer, but in that, had saved the unsuspecting nations who were yet to be victims by staying long enough to reveal the truth behind the strange disappearances. Germany placed his fingers over the Russian's eyelids, sliding them over the lifeless violet pools.

Germany sighed, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, "Italy, could you come here please?" he asked, not looking behind him. He still assumed Italy was up by the stairs.

When Germany turned his head however, he felt a strong blow from a blunt object in his face, heard a sharp crack, and it sent him spiraling over Russia's corpse. A sharp pain was in his nose, and blood began to run. Italy stepped forward, baseball bat in hand, and crying, said apologetically, like a whiny child, "Veee! I'm sorry Germany, but if you're not going to let me get on with business, then I have no choice!"

He proceeded to hit Germany again, beating him this time in the shoulder. Much to Germany's luck however, he was stronger than the Italian, and ignoring the horrible pain from the blows, staggered up, and grabbed the baseball bat firmly as Italy swung it once more. Italy tried to pull it back, but Germany had the better grip. He yanked it out of the insane man's hands, and felt tempted to swing it at Italy and kill him. But he just couldn't. Because he could still see the young, puppy eyed, cowardly nation in the killer, and seeing him die would have been terrible.

He sighed and put the bat down, looking at the floor; the bloody floor with Russia's body sprawled on it, and dangerous, sharp tools everywhere. But when he looked up, he saw Italy lunging at him, trying to knock him down. He sprung back, and grabbed Italy by the shoulder's hoping to keep him in limited control. But what he didn't see was the sharp knife in Italy's hand, driving towards his chest. He had time to dodge, but it ended up hitting him in the right side, away from his heart, but enough to hit the collarbone. Pain surged through Germany as he tumbled over, and he looked up at the basement door.

As his consciousness faded, he could see two figures appearing and running down the steps.

The last thing he heard were the screams of England and Romano.

* * *

><p>When Germany woke up in the hospital, he could see the blurry figures of England and...Italy, looking over him worriedly.<p>

"Oh, Germany! You're awake, are you alright? What happened, are you hurt?" cried Italy, brown eyes teary.

"He'll be fine Italy, he just needs rest. Why don't you go out in the hall to your brother? I need to talk to Germany." spoke England softly.

Italy smiled goofily, "Okie dokie then!" and skipped out of the room.

Germany asked bewilderedly, "What was he doing here? What am I doing here?"

England hissed, "Not so loud! They can hear us out there!"

He then continued, "We got there as soon as you passed out. Romano was screaming and breaking down, but I was able to hold Italy down long enough to cuff 'im. And you wonder how my police force is so good, huh?"

Germany lay back, exhaustedly. He felt sore, and there was a large bandage on his chest, and his face was bruised.

England cleared his throat, "Anyway...you've been out for three days...Yesterday, I erased Italy's memory yesterday of all the murders, using an amnesia spell. He only remembers whatever happened before all that, and that he is your friend. He confessed to all the murders before hand."

"W-well what are we going to do?"

"It's been suggested that we send him to the island where we fought as Axis and Allies in WWII. That way, he won't be able to harm anyone if given the motive, and we won't have to deal with him."

"B-but why? He's murdered at least 40 nations!"

"Yes, but he has no knowledge anymore as to what he's done...someone did almost say that killing him would be justified, but Romano was in the room...oh royal majesty...poor boy's a complete wreck...about one step away from being put in a mental hospital..."

England sighed, and rubbed his forehead. He looked back up at Germany, sadness in his green eyes, "He killed m'boys you know..."

_America and Canada..._ thought Germany, almost feeling the British man's pain, knowing that England had loved both the twins as children. It almost haunted Germany; the thought of a father having to lose both his sons.

England's breath hitched, and he whispered, "...I was the one who almost suggested that we kill him...b-but I knew that it wasn't going to make it any better...because both my boys would still be dead..."

Germany felt horrible for the English nation who was on the verge of tears. England then asked, "Sealand wasn't there was he?"

"Nein. Not from what I saw..."

England bit his lip, and nodding, left the room, leaving Germany alone.

Italy sat out in the hall, face to face with Romano, who sat on a bench, eyes staring straight ahead, but not at anything. Endless tears were flowing, and the South Italian man had an endless look of horror on his face. He was almost shaking, but was supported by Spain, who sat next to him, not looking at his face.

Italy had a big dumb happy smile, and chirped, "Aw cheer up Romano! Germany's gonna be okay! I didn't know you'd be so upset about him being hurt!"

Romano remained horrified and broken. Italy got up straight in his face, causing the other to whimper. Italy smiled big, eyes wide, "Come on, smile! For me?"

Spain cried angrily, "Stop it Italy, you're upsetting him!" leaving the clueless Italian confused.

Romano did end up being sent to a mental hospital for quite some time, to heal. When he returned to his duties as both parts of Italy, he seemed...different. He rarely shouted out at anyone, and never looked anyone in the eye. He remained reclusive, even a bit towards Spain.

About three years later, they found him hanging from a ceiling post in his house. He had killed himself.

* * *

><p>The other living nations were standing outside the Italian's house as the dead bodies were being dragged out. All were placed side by side. When faces were recognized, people began shouting in horror and cries of mourning and sadness were heard.<p>

Prussia comforted Hungary as she mourned silently over Austria's body, the albino more than eager to comfort his crush, but just as upset about Austria. England found Sealand crying over by Latvia's corpse, and realizing his annoying little brother was alive, grabbed him in a life crushing hug, thanking God that he was alright. Sealand was equally glad to see his brother (shouting 'let me go you jerk!'), but continued to sob over his friend. England didn't let go for the longest time.

Ukraine was absolutely wailing over Russia and Belarus' lifeless bodies, cradling them, crying to God in Russian why he had done this to them. It was only a slight comfort for her to know that in Germany's explanation, Russia died saving her from a similar fate, and this fact was able to convince all that the seemingly menacing Russia was a good man.

Japan silently burned in grief as he looked over the bodies of America, Greece, and Turkey, all absolutely mauled. These were his friends, and Italy...of all people...had caused them to suffer horrible deaths.

Later that night, he said to Germany, "Mr. Germany-san, I will be taking Italy to the island tomorrow."

* * *

><p>"Ooh Japan, this is gonna be fun right? We're gonna play on the beach, and build sand castles, right?" cried Italy happy as he skipped on the beach.<p>

"Hai." nodded Japan emotionless, not wearing any swim clothes.

"Ve, I can't wait!" he cheered, as he skipped farther, and cartwheeling. Japan however followed from a distance, and seemed to be watching the water. He stopped at a part where the water was deep and rough with riptides and undercurrents during high tide. Which was soon.

"Italy-san! Over here!" he called out, as Italy turned to his voice. Smiling cluelessly, Italy, in his navy jacket, and swim trunks, barefoot, pattered quickly over, leaving foot prints in the sand.

He bounced right beside Japan, jumping small bounces excitedly on his toes. He stared out at the water.

"Ve, it's so pretty out, I'm gonna take a swim, and find crabs, and play with the fishies!"

He continued to stare out at the water, happy and dumb, as Japan quietly circled behind him. Japan quietly removed his katana from its sheath and quietly murmured putting a hand on Italy's shoulder, "Italy-san, forgive me..."

Before Italy could turn around, the blade was thrust through his stomach, in an upwards degree. Italy didn't have time to scream, but a look of horror and pain slammed on his face as blood came from his mouth. He staggered forward a moment, then fell face flat on the sand, dead. His large chocolate eyes could no longer see.

Japan sighed, pitifully, and taking the katana from Italy's corpse, cleaned it off in the water, blood staining it a pink hue. He then lifted Italy's body carefully and tossed it into a current, which swallowed the bloody mass up quickly, making it disappear forever. Italy had to die, or nobody would ever be safe.

None of the nations would ever know, Japan would make sure.

All of a sudden, a smile appeared on the solemn man's face. Not a quiet, polite smile, but a smile of insanity, and malice. It had appeared spontaneously.

_Italy was an idiot..._ reflected Japan, _...he should have known that sushi was better..._

* * *

><p><strong><em><em>Aaand, that's it. Sort of a twist there, eh?**

**Well, thanks to whoever read!**

**I'm sorry if anyone is offended, but 'u just mad'.**

**Read and review or there will be horrible deleted scenes! (not really, but hey)**


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